


Broken Arrow

by heavenseed



Category: Walking Dead
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Desus - Freeform, Fluff, Gay!Daryl, Gore, Homosexuality, Insecurities, M/M, PaulRovia, Romance, Walkers, Zombies, analsex, gaysex, male/malerelatioships, postapocalypselove, thewalkingdead, twd, twdfanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-05-31 22:24:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenseed/pseuds/heavenseed
Summary: Caring for someone in the apocalypse can be more dangerous than a walker.





	1. Constellations

He saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. Just enough light in the predawn darkness to catch his attention. He never slept much on a good night, but tonight he was especially restless. He was a guest at The Kingdom and felt out of his element. Pacing the dark streets of the settlement, chain smoking with his crossbow strapped across his broad shoulders, he could tell himself he was keeping watch. Cricket song echoed between the buildings, and an owl could be heard, calling from somewhere beyond the walls. While most of The Kingdom slept, Daryl Dixon reacquainted himself with the constellations. So quiet, and so dark, the lantern light from the upper window of a building caught his eye. 

He could just make out the silhouette of two figures, two men, chests bare and bathed in the yellow glow of a lantern. Thet were obviously kissing; hands moving over one another, obscuring their bodies in shadow. Daryl was never one to eavesdrop and turned away to round the corner. Before he did, he inhaled the last of his cigarette, and glanced up as he flicked the butt to the ground. He realized then, one of the men was Paul Rovia. The outline was unmistakable and Daryl knew it too well. Without bothering to make sure the butt was crushed out, Daryl quickly turned and left, his gut twisting.

Above, Paul was with one of the newer members of The Kingdom, listening to murmurs of praise from a man he barely knew. Hands had already made quick work of their shirts, and the sensation of another man’s body pressed against his had him more than a little aroused. As he turned toward the window his lover reached around him to undo his belt buckle. His eyes began to close, feeling the heat of another body pressing against his back. He reached to close the curtain, chuckling softly at his partner, who struggled with the belt. As he turned to the man behind him, he saw it. A flicker of red against the night shadows: the last inhale of a cigarette burning bright in the courtyard below. He didn’t see the person who flicked the cigarette to the pavement, already embraced by the shadows. Before he could process what he had seen, his lover’s mouth was on his, nimble hands pressing into his hips and teasing his waistband lower. He gave in and pushed the vision out of his mind. Paul just wanted to feel, he just wanted to escape. He stuffed it away with the knowledge that this was likely less meaningful to him than it was to the man who now knelt before him. While the young man eager to have Paul’s cock in his mouth felt his heart about to burst with affection, Paul was ready to simply grab the back of his head and use that mouth for his own pleasure. He vaguely considered telling his partner that this was just sex… but then the heat and wetness of the other man’s mouth drown out his other senses. He put the thought away with the ones recalling cigarettes and late night watch, closed that door and locked it. 

Daryl’s chest tightened as he hurried away from the dormitories, away from the sight of Paul’s bare chest, away from the hands that roamed over it. He walked quickly, breathing shallow and labored, until he felt lightheaded. He stopped against a large, aged oak tree, leaning against it with his forearm. He struggled to catch his breath and he squeezed his eyes shut as if he could push the vision from his eyes. His gasps for air turned to sobs and he turned to look up at the sky. He let himself feel it then, the heartache. He let the tears fall, allowing the night to bathe him in shadow. He stood there until the sun came up.


	2. Cruel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cruel words break hearts

Six weeks ago...

Paul knew that if he could just get Daryl to look him in the eye, either Daryl would break his resolve or he would at least know the man was serious. The abalone buttons on his open shirt winked in the lantern light and tempted Daryl to look up. But the expanse of creamy skin and auburn hair peeking out would be too much.

“Please, explain this to me again. Because this makes no sense, Daryl.” Paul crouched in front of him as Daryl tied his boots, crisscrossing the laces up his legs. 

Daryl avoided Paul’s gaze, keeping his head down. “It makes perfect sense.” He answered, his voice barely a whisper. His hair fell in front of his eyes, and Paul had to keep his fists clenched to keep from reaching out and sweeping the locks away.

“Daryl…” Paul pressed his own eyes closed, willing the fresh tears to stay where they were. “You really want to give this up so easily? I get that you’re scared. I do. I’m fucking terrified! I don’t want to lose anyone else – I don’t want to lose you! I thought we had something here…”

Daryl rose and nearly knocked Paul over as he struggled to control the urge to run. He began looking for his jacket and vest amongst crumpled sheets. “We don’t.” Daryl grumbled. “We can’t.”

Paul crossed his arms and moved in front of the door.

“What was it then? Am I just someone you wanna fool around with? I told you from the beginning that I didn’t want just a fuck buddy. I want you.” Paul’s anger was quickly overcoming his initial grief.

Daryl slipped on his jacket, ending his search for his vest. He needed to get out of Paul’s trailer. “You wanna know what this was?” Daryl looked straight into Paul’s pained eyes. “It was a mistake.” The man shouldered his crossbow and pushed past Paul, who could only stand there in shock. He knew, intellectually, that Daryl was scared, afraid of getting too close to anyone. He had just learned how cruel the other man could be.

The door slammed behind Daryl, leaving Paul alone in his trailer. Unshed tears finally fell, pushed over by the shockwave made when his heart shattered. He put his weight into his arms and leaned over the table in the center of the trailer, two shaky sobs were all he would allow. Anger reared up like an unbroken horse and Paul let out a yell as he swept the entire table clear, sending guns, knives, a map, dishes and a full metal canteen to the floor. A lone book survived on the table top – a large volume of poetry he recognized as something Daryl had recently brought back from a run. He hefted the tome with one hand and threw the book at the door, leaving a large gash in the hollow wood. Suddenly exhausted, he fell into the kitchen chair, not knowing what to do. 

Outside, Daryl nearly jumped over all three steps as he left the trailer. He heard the anquished yell and crash of objects through the walls of the flimsy building. He paused for a split second and glanced back. There was a violent thud from the other side of the door, which rattled in it’s frame. Daryl flinched away from the sound and quickly walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggest some tags please? All typos are my own. Anyone want to beta for me?


	3. Herd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True friends have your back.

(Present Day)

Daryl Dixon’s family were no strangers to his temper. They shared looks as he hefted and nearly threw supplies into the RV, and his family gave him a wide berth. Maybe the long drive back to Hilltop and on to Alexandria would give him time to cool off. They let him grumble and bitch, generally staying out of his way. Daryl wasn’t the only one who regretted the decision to leave his bike at Hilltop.

Carol gave the grumpy hunter an extra long, tight hug as the last of the supplies were loaded. She alone understood the reason for his puffy eyes and the drooping set of his shoulders. She thought about telling him again that he could go back, that he could change his mind, but kissed his temple and smoothed his hair out of his face instead. Their eyes met and Carol’s thin smile pushed the corner of Daryl’s lips up in return. _“You alright?”_ her look said. _“Gotta be.”_ his replied. Carol’s extra squeeze conveyed, _“Yeah right, I know you.”_ Daryl squeezed back, and then watched his best friend bid goodbye to the rest of the group.

 

Point of fact: it is really hard to ignore someone in an RV full of supplies and four other people. Daryl worked on cleaning hand guns that had been part of their supply trade, while Paul drove and Tara kept him company in the shotgun seat. Rosita sat opposite Daryl at the table, looking over the handwritten inventory they had been given. Glenn dozed on the bench seat. The old RV was loud, and Paul and Tara loved to have the CD player on, singing along. Months ago Daryl would have had his head between their seats, watching the road. Today, his face was red with the effort it took him to refrain from watching the pair in the rearview mirror.

Rosita noticed.

“Gringo.” She bumped her foot against Daryl’s knee under the table. “You ok?” 

“Mhmm.” Daryl bobbed his head in the affirmative. Rosita just rolled her eyes.

“Stupid question.” She sighed, “What the hell is going on with you?” She leaned over and attempted to make eye contact. A flicker of blue eyes meeting hers through the curtain of Daryl’s hair was all he was willing to give.

“Nothing.” Daryl punctuated his response by slamming a full clip into the handgun he had finished cleaning. The click of inserting a clip into a handgun was always satisfying.

Rosita raised an eyebrow. “You look like a puppy who lost his favorite toy.” Daryl chanced a glance in the rearview mirror at Paul. Their eyes met and both men had to look away, cheekbones tinged pink. Paul reached over and turned up the volume, taking interest in the song and beginning to sing along.

“I’m just fine.” He clicked the safety on and stowed the handgun in a Pelican case on his other side. Daryl reached into the bag beside him and pulled out another handgun that had seen better days. Rosita dropped the subject as Daryl set about disassembling the weapon.

Forty-five minutes later, Paul spotted a herd of walkers that could be seen from half a mile away. Glenn woke with a start and the others raised their heads from their tasks as the RV stopped on the highway with a jolt.

“Hey, ya’ll, got trouble up ahead.” Paul called back to Glenn, Daryl and Rosita. They crowded behind the front seats to gauge the situation.

“Think we should stay back and let em pass?” Tara asked.

“Not much more we can do. A herd that size…” Paul agreed.

“I do not want to mess with that….” Glenn wrinkled his nose at the stench already wafting toward them on the breeze. “Save the gas and sit tight.” He instructed.

“This could take hours. I can’t sit here for God knows how long. I’m gonna go out and see if I can come up behind em, see what we’re dealin with.” Daryl shouldered his crossbow. Glenn and Tara both started to protest.

“I’ll come with you.” Jesus moved to make his way into the back of the RV.

“NO!” Daryl all but yelled. “Better on my own.” Without waiting for a response, Daryl left the RV and jogged into the treeline. The rest of the group just sighed in resignation. It was typical behavior for Daryl to be a lone wolf, and there wasn’t much they could do to stop him. They gathered around the table in the RV, weapons ready, waiting for the herd to pass or turn their way.

Tara picked up one of Daryl’s damaged bolts that lay in the seam of the cracked Naugahyde cushions, absentmindedly brushing the fletching against her chin. “What’s up with Daryl lately anyway?”

They looked at each other in turn, no one wanting to bring up the elephant in the room, but Tara had a penchant for gossip, and so broached the subject. 

“I’ve never seen him like this. He’s surly, for sure, but now he’s just…” Glenn began, shaking his head.

“Sad. He seems sad. What do we do with sad Daryl?” Rosita finished.

“I can deal with grumpy redneck, but sad redneck… that’s out of my realm of experience.” Tara frowned, fiddling with the arrow.

Glenn’s face was a mask of concern. “The guy is like my own brother. We’ve been together since the beginning. He used to talk to me. He wasn't even like this when... well, when we were on the road.”

Next to Glenn, Paul rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped nervously and head hung low, hair hiding his face. “It’s my fault.” He said. The others barely heard him.

“Um, what? What the hell did you do?” Rosita was loud and accusatory. Tara stopped twirling the arrow and froze.

“Jesus?” Glenn prodded.

With a sigh, Paul flipped his hair back from his face, and looked up at his companions. He couldn’t meet their eyes. He opened his hands as if waving a white flag. “We… hooked up. I pushed him a little too far and he bolted.” The RV was silent. Paul had to look up when he didn’t receive a response. Glenn’s gaze was flitting between the women, trying to get some clue from either of them, while Rosita and Tara just stared.

Rosita was the first to really wrap her head around what Paul had just said. “You.. and Daryl… had – you and Daryl _hooked up_?” She stood over Paul, one hand on her hip.

“Oh my God! He’s _gay_. Daryl’s gay?” Tara slapped the table as she interrupted Rosita.

Glenn’s blank face changed suddenly. “Oh!” He looked to Tara for confirmation. Tara was grinning and nodding slowly. “Holy shit. What the hell happened!”

Rosita still needed confirmation. “You slept together?”

“Yes… yes we slept together.” Paul covered his face. He knew outing Daryl was going to come back and bite him in the ass. His justification, in his own mind, was that his family was worried about him.

Rosita let out a train of swears in Spanish, pulling off her hat and sitting down in a huff.

Glenn began pacing. “Shit, shit, shit…” 

“I’m sorry you guys…” Paul tried.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Glenn was angrier than any of them had ever seen him. “Have you _met_ Daryl? He has the emotional range of a two year old! Aw shit….” 

“Glenn! Seriously? They would be good together!” Tara was confused that Glenn would be so angry. “Doesn’t Daryl deserve to be happy?”

“Yes! Of course he does! More than most people. He is the most loyal guy I know.” Glenn ran his hand through his hair. How to explain Daryl Dixon? “He has put himself on the line for his family over and over again. He nearly died looking for Carol’s daughter. He tried to fight off a heard of walkers so Aaron could make it back for Eric.”

Paul couldn’t hide that he was ashamed.

“So what does Jesus need to be sorry for?” Tara looked around the RV, big brown eyes challenging.

“Because he doesn’t believe he’s worth it. In his mind, if he gets close to someone, he’s gonna lose them.” Paul explained as best he could. 

Glenn rested his head on the corner of the wall between the kitchenette and the bathroom. “Exactly. He lost his brother, *twice*, his friend Zach, Herschel, Noah, Bob, Tyreese…. Beth... Denise.” He sighed heavily and resumed pacing. “Have you seen what happened to him when he was a kid?”

Rosita nodded solemnly, and Paul continued to sit and let the others come down on him. Tara frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Scars. You ever seen him take that vest off?” Rosita asked pointedly. When Tara struggled to put two and two together, Rosita continued. “His papi used to beat him until he bled after his brother ran away and left him.”

Tara’s face fell. “No!” She looked at the others for confirmation, as if saying it didn’t happen could make it un-happen to Daryl. Glenn nodded. Paul gave a sigh, a breathy “yeah…”.

“So, what do we do now?” Tara asked, ever the fixer of the group.

“I don’t know… I don’t think there is anything _to_ do.” Paul rose and tried to disengage himself from the conversation by sitting in the drivers seat.

“Wait a minute – you gotta fix this! You just _outted him_!” Glenn followed Paul and sat in the passenger seat.

“How exactly? He told me it was a mistake. He told me it wasn’t worth it to get close to anyone.” 

“That’s bullshit!” Tara boxed Paul into the driver’s seat.

“We all know it’s bullshit, but can you blame him?” Rosita asked from her seat at the table. She picked up the bolt Tara had been playing with. “Denise tried to tell him to put away his shitty past and try to _live_ and she got an arrow to the head for it.”

Tara was a little stunned to hear that morsel of information. They sat in silence for a few moments, all lost in thought. 

“Denise wasn’t wrong…” Tara said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't have a fic without Glenn. I love him too much. A little longer chapter. Enjoy.


	4. Ripped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is hurt on a run, Daryl considers the consequences.

Seven weeks ago

Paul leaned heavily on Daryl, steadying his overfull pack with one hand, the other wrapped firmly around his partner’s waist. He was dizzy, panting, and more than a little panicked. Daryl held him close by his side, Paul’s shoulder tucked beneath his arm, wrapped nearly completely around his wiry body. It was hot – the type of day Daryl would be used to in Georgia, but the humidity amplified the heat of two bodies pressed so closely together. Sweat ran down his temple; beside him, Paul pressed his forehead into the collar of Daryl’s shirt to wipe the sweat from his own brow.

“Daryl!” Paul shouted in warning. Instinctively Daryl tightened his grasp. He lifted his crossbow and loosed a bolt that felled a walker who had come a little too close for comfort, brown sludgy blood spraying out onto Paul’s leather duster. He left the bolt where it stuck out of the walker’s eye socket and pulled Paul along the asphalt. Dozens more walkers followed behind, and there wasn’t much more that either of them could do but attempt to run. 

They hit the glass of the double doors with a thud. They had just vacated the small Army Surplus store and knew it to be empty. They had been chased back by walkers, and Paul was already pulling the chains off the doors as Daryl loaded another bolt. Before he could fire, Paul was pulling him inside the store.

Just as the chains were secure around the handles of the door, several walkers hit the glass with enough force to rattle the metal roll-down doors on the windows on either side. One corpse noticed the fresh blood on the seam of the door and began to mouth it hungrily. Others took notice and fought to taste it for themselves.

“If they all crowd up on that door, it aint gonna hold.” Both men were panting, trying desperately to fill their lungs.

“Roof?” Paul asked. Daryl just nodded and tucked his partner under his arm again. As they made their way, Paul’s side oozed from a wound just below his ribcage, staining his cargo pants brownish red, the sickening tang of copper heavy in the air. The store was dark, and the access to the roof even darker. They paused in the darkness, closing the heavy door firmly behind them. Paul was getting weaker by the moment, holding up the wall of the stairwell as Daryl climbed the rickety stairs to open the roof access door. Soon they were bathed in stark sunlight, the sight of Paul at the bottom of the stairs, bleeding, shaky and trying to control his breathing had a pang of guilt sweeping through Daryl’s stomach. He all but slid down the stairs to help Paul up.

Daryl stepped in close to Paul and cupped his bearded chin. Paul’s eyes were bright and clear, even while pain made him shaky. Paul could see the lines in Daryl’s face and could read them like any book he had every picked up.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. It was a stupid accident. That’s all. I’m gonna be fine.” Paul even managed to smile. Daryl leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. Paul’s long lashes caught the sunlight as his eyes fluttered closed, and he relaxed against Daryl for just a moment.

“I’ll get you up there. And we’ll patch you up. You lay down a distraction, and I’ll run for the bike. Think you can make it back to the door?” Daryl took the pack from Paul and hefted it onto his own back.

“Yeah.” Paul sighed, mentally preparing himself for the painful climb ahead. A day he had intended to spend pulling his new lover out of his shell had turned sour, because the men had been more focused on each other than on their surroundings. Rookie mistake, he knew.

Paul climbed up the stairs slowly, taking his time between each one. Daryl was immediately behind him, so he would catch him if he fell. The stairs were more like a ladder: thin steps against a concrete wall. Daryl stayed very close, so close he could lay his head between Paul’s shoulder blades if he wanted to. He concentrated on the play of light and shadow on the strands of hair flowing from underneath Paul’s knit cap. Underneath the smell of blood and the sickly sweet stench of long-dead corpse, Daryl could smell the leather of the other man’s coat, his soap and something else that was uniquely Paul.

As the two stepped out onto the roof, Paul collapsed onto the tarpaper, allowing himself to become boneless. Sticky with the blood of several walkers and his own, his sweat was the only thing keeping his clothes from plastering to him like paper mache. Daryl opened their pack, digging deep for the first aid kit, the canteen, and a small bottle of gin.

With gentle hands Daryl was silent as he pulled Paul’s cap off his head and beginning to help him out of his heavy duster. He helped the injured scout lean against the edge of the roof as he lay the clothing aside and offered him the canteen.

“Slow.” Daryl warned as Paul screwed the cap off, nodding. Daryl watched as a drop of liquid trailed down the long expanse of throat as Paul drank. He shook off the strong urge to capture it with his tongue and moved to unbutton the quilted vest. Paul choked on the water as he felt gentle hands pulling insistently on his clothing. “Need to look at your wound.” Paul swallowed and eyed Daryl, lips dripping with water from the canteen; he could only nod. Daryl pushed the vest off his shoulders, knuckles brushing the other man’s face. Thinking Daryl would need more access, Paul started to sit up, wincing in pain. “No – stay still.” His voice was soft and reassuring. Those hands, those gentle, calloused hands attached to arms that could soothe as well as they could choke the life from someone in seconds, paused on Paul’s collarbone.

Without pretense, Daryl ripped the shirt beneath the vest. One strong tug had it open to his rib cage. Paul watched the man in front of him in awe. If he had not been exhausted, dehydrated and injured, it might have turned him on. As it was, the jerk of those strong arms against the fabric pulled out a groan of pain. “Fuck, Daryl! This would be hot if I wasn’t about to die.” Daryl worked quickly, but efficiently, undeterred by innuendo. Daryl ripped the shirt down to the hem with another tug and spread the fabric away from Paul’s abdomen.

Daryl met Paul’s eyes sheepishly. “I’ll try to remember that.” He mumbled. 

He pulled his attention back to the task at hand. The gash was not a large one, but clearly it was deep. “Might be a liver lac.” Daryl assessed. “But just barely. That’s why it’s still leaking. Doc will have to open it up to stop it altogether, but we can bind it up until then.”

Paul nodded and slowly moved to lay down and provide better access to his wound. Daryl rose to prepare the first aid kit. He used the rest of the water in the canteen and the gin to clean his hands, and passed the alcohol to Paul, who sneered at the bottle before taking it and having a big swig from the bottle. Thankfully Daryl didn’t need it to clean the wound. He smeared cold brown iodine onto Paul’s wound, not immune to the way the man’s stomach tensed and lithe muscles flexed. Trembling, groaning, exposed Paul was always a sight to behold. He wiped the excess off with gauze and repeated the iodine. As the disinfectant did its job, Daryl prepared gauze to pack into the deepest part of the wound. “Gonna pack it, then cover and bind it. Not gonna stitch it – don’t need you clotting up under the skin.” Daryl readied his supplies and Paul took a few more pulls from the bottle of gin.

After carefully placing sterile gauze inside the wound, Daryl taped a pressure bandage tightly over the wound. He helped Paul to stand and wrap an ace bandage around his abdomen, just slightly tighter than was comfortable. He studied Daryl’s handiwork as the hunter cleaned up.

“Nice job.” Paul appraised, forcing a smile. He was grateful the gin had begun to kick in. Daryl smirked back at him as he tucked away the supplies.

“No more gin for you.” Daryl snuffed out a laugh as Paul pouted.

Their plan worked perfectly. Several rounds of fireworks and cans full of nuts and bolts thrown off the roof, away from the building, gave Daryl the opportunity to run for his motorcycle. He met Paul at the door, doubling over in pain, but alive and able to take the pack onto his own back as Daryl spun out of the parking lot.

Paul pressed himself against Daryl’s back, the wind cooling his sweat-slick skin. His gloved hands found each other as his arms reached around Daryl, and his heavy head lay against his neck. The hunter pressed Paul’s hands against his chest and held them there, as they sped home.


	5. Depressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glenn needs a place to stay and confides in Daryl

Present day

 

3am, and Daryl was opening his door to a disheveled, exhausted Glenn Rhee. He held a backpack and his holster was haphazardly slung over his shoulder.

“She kick you out?” Daryl asked as he opened the door wider. 

“Yeah. Can I?” Glenn gestured to the couch as he entered the tiny house Daryl had claimed for his own. 

It suited him, not too large as to feel lonely inside it, but big enough to have a guest or two if need be. He had a large, comfortable chair, a sofa with a coffee table and bookshelves where a television would otherwise be. Books, weapons, maps, mugs of half-consumed coffee were strewn about. Glenn noted the sink full of dirty dishes, the pile of laundry in the hallway, and the curtains clipped together to keep sunlight out. 

“Of course, man.” Daryl closed the door as Glenn flopped down onto the couch.

“These pregnancy hormones are gonna kill me!” Glenn had his head in his hands as Daryl set down a bottle of liquor and two glasses in front of Glenn, who gave the bottle an apprehensive look.

“This will help you sleep.” Daryl assured him. He poured a shot for Glenn, and a lot more than a shot for himself. “What the hell happened?”

Glenn was all too aware of the uncharacteristic question from Daryl. He didn’t often seemed to care about the cogs of intimate relationships, but he certainly cared for his family. Seeing Glenn and Maggie at odds pained him.

“I don’t know.” Glenn winced as he took a sip, liquor burning his throat. “One minute we’re talking about names and the next minute she’s yelling at me, crying, saying I don’t love her…” Daryl just nodded in solidarity. “But I do. I love her _so damned much_ , it hurts sometimes.” Glenn chanced another drink.

Daryl took a larger drink from his glass, trying not to look uncomfortable hearing Glenn’s troubles. “She knows you love her, Glenn. She knows.”

“I don’t want to spend all this time fighting – who knows whats gonna happen tomorrow. We could be dead tomorrow.” Glenn drained his glass and set it down on the coffee table with a clunk, reaching for the bottle. Daryl intercepted.

“No way man, you’re a lightweight.” Glenn scoffed at Daryl as the bottle was held away from him. “I aint gonna have Maggie pissed at me!”

“Just one more. C’mon.”

Their eyes met. Daryl could see something twisting behind Glenn’s eyes. Sadness? Anxiety over the fight with his wife? Daryl couldn’t place the look. “Fine. But that’s it.” Daryl resolutely poured Glenn another shot.

“Thanks.” Glenn sat back on the couch, sipping at the two ounces of liquor in his glass. 

“She’ll be alright tomorrow. Give it time.”

“You think? I cannot lose her, Daryl. I can’t. I don’t know what I would do. Even through everything, the farm, Herschel, Beth… I couldn’t have done it without her.” Glenn finished his liquor. 

“You always got us.” Daryl’s voice was soft. His hair was swept away from his face and his full attention was on Glenn.

“I know. It’s not the same, though. There’s that physical connection we have.” Glenn swallowed thickly and he became apologetic. “Not that we- me and you- don’t have that kind of connection – I mean we don’t. But, we could. If things were different. If we were different. I don’t know.” He gaped like a fish out of water, still looking for words.

Daryl cracked a rare smile and actually laughed. “Glenn! Calm your tits, man. Seriously.”

“Sorry. I just didn’t want you to think I was into that. Or that I thought you might be into that. Are you?” Glenn leaned forward “into that?” He was failing miserably at nonchalance.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “Maggie didn’t kick you out, did she?” He poured another glass for himself, but he let his hair fall into his eyes. It was camouflage, making his face hard to read. He placed the look in Glenn’s eyes: Deception. 

“Technically…. No. She made me come over to….” Glenn began slowly, as if approaching a landmine. 

“You’re a shit liar.” Daryl didn’t explode, but his knee did start bouncing in irritation. “Because of Jesus?”

Glenn nodded. He knew he was a terrible liar, terrible at keeping secrets. He was uncomfortable having been called out. “Um… he kind of… he kind of outted? You.”

“Shit.” Daryl muttered. He was a lot more calm than Glenn had expected and that worried him more than if Daryl had thrown his glass at the wall.

“Daryl.” Glenn sat a little closer to his friend. “We’re worried about you. It’s the end of the fucking world – no one cares who’s bed you sleep in anymore.”

Daryl scoffed and tossed back the rest of his glass. He reached for the bottle, but Glenn was quicker, picking it up and keeping it out of Daryl’s reach.

“Tara and Rosita, me – we know you’re hurting, man.”

“I’m fine.” Daryl couldn’t look back at Glenn. He didn’t try to fight him for the bottle. 

“No. You’re not. You’re not fine. You are the toughest motherfucker I know, but something happened.”

Daryl took a long while to respond; Glenn sat patiently, ready for whatever his brother would throw his way.

“I can’t do it.” He said low, deflatedly. 

“Can’t do what?”

“I ain’t like you and Maggie. Lost too many people.” Glenn felt the tension rolling off the hunter. “My brother. Everyone at the prison, Sasha... Eric...” 

“Beth?” Glenn chanced.

“Beth.” Daryl resolutely set his glass on the table. “If something happened to him,” he began, looking up and letting Glenn see his face. It was beginning to sag with the familiar weight of tears threatening to spill.

Glenn spent the night on the couch, listening to everything Daryl wanted to say.


	6. Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul misses Daryl. For many reasons.

Present day

Paul knew, in his heart of hearts, that giving in was going to hurt. And he tried. Of course he tried. He was not an unintelligent man. Every time he hoped, every time his eyes lingered on the familiar tattered angel wings, every time he heard the whisper of an arrow through the air, he felt the wound in his chest tear a little bit more. He tried not to watch Daryl. He tried not to sit near when everyone sat down together. He tried not to let that voice settle in his stomach and _do things_ to him. 

But he missed it. He missed being shoulder to shoulder with someone who was as capable as he was, and who could truly have his back. He missed having someone to pull him out of his nightmares and someone to care for. He missed late night talks, when the world spun around them, and they could pretend to be separate from it. Sometimes, when they were forced into close proximity, his skin would itch to be touched, as it remembered what the other man felt like beneath his fingertips. He would clench his fists to keep his hands from reaching out to move hair out of those beautiful eyes. 

He tried to keep his mind occupied, to stay busy. He tried to make the hours he had alone ones in which he would fall into deep, dreamless sleep. It was worse when he had time to think. When he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t being slowly tortured by Daryl Dixon’s existence. 

Alone in his too-big bed, his mind and his body would remember. The salty-sweet taste of his lips, sweat drying on their foreheads. The smell of adrenaline, from fighting for their lives, from giving in to their most basic desires. Try as he might, the memory of tasting Daryl’s sun-warmed biceps, and giving in to the temptation to bite down into that work-earned muscle would set him on edge. The feel of hands on his body, fingers ghosting over his skin, teasing out sounds he had never heard from his own mouth before, and the memory of the arrogant smile on Daryl’s lips.... The same lips that would kiss him breathless and often left him begging to be touched. 

He would tell himself that he wouldn’t do it anymore, just this one last time, as he pulled at a sensitive nipple and freed his erection from his pants. It was never the same, of course, but for ten minutes, just this once, he could go into his own head and remember.

The feel of Daryl’s hands on him, inside him, tongue in his mouth, the memory wouldn’t leave him alone. He would revel in the way his own hands would take Daryl apart, piece by piece, until they were trembling against one another, pulling in deep breaths as they attempted to put themselves back together. He missed giving himself up, inhibitions left in their pile of clothing, letting Daryl find all the places that made him whimper, all the ways he could bring Paul to the edge and let him dangle there. Daryl’s fingers could reach inside him and pull out a string of filthy curses, could nearly bring him to tears, those impossible blue eyes watching. Taking his own leaking cock in his hand and finding that rhythm- the one so familiar it was like the beat of his own heart. Stroking himself was nothing compared to the feel of his cock pressed between their stomachs, as Daryl’s stretched him open. He would thrust his hand into his own hair, recalling how he would hold Daryl against himself, but there were no prayers being whispered in his ear and no one to hear him gasp, _“So close...”_. And the worst part was that he had no one to kiss him, or watch him, or just hold him as his orgasm moved through his body. 

Alone, he could only stroke himself, finishing with a groan, and turn to press his face into the pillow. The tears that followed: shame, loneliness and a small amount of anger, soaked into the fabric and he would promise himself, never again. He would control himself better. He wouldn’t let Daryl continue to take up so much space in his heart and mind. He would try harder to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry.


	7. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post close-call smut.

(8 weeks ago)

The door to the trailer hadn’t even closed, and Daryl was on him. Pushing the leather duster off his shoulders.

“This is completely unnecessary. I’m OK. Really.” Paul tugged off the knit cap that keep his hair from becoming a liability, and tossed it on the table. 

“Need to see for myself.” The look in Daryl’s eyes was predatory. He hastily unbuckled the bandolier strapped across Paul’s chest, letting the knives fall to the ground. Unzipping the black quilted vest, Daryl pulled him closer. Paul smirked, letting Daryl undress him. 

They had barely escaped being eaten alive, and for a few moments, Daryl had truly believed Paul was gone. The relief that flooded his veins, when the ninja pulled himself from a pile of the undead, had him reeling. He was equal parts angry and frustrated, and overwhelmed with need to revel in just being alive. 

Paul managed to get Daryl’s vest and jacket off, before his belt buckle was coming open with a clink. "C'mere." Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, slowly dragging Paul toward him by the ends of his belt. Daryl reached for him and pulled him between his thighs. "I need to know you’re OK.” his voice was a deep baritone Paul knew came from low in his lover's belly. He could only smile and nod. "Take this off." Daryl demanded, tugging at Paul's shirt. The scout obliged, as Daryl ran his hands over muscular arms and shoulders. Turning back, Paul's upper body was bared to him, hair tossed lazily to one side, eyes mischievous.

Daryl took in the expanse of smooth flesh, laid in relief over lithe musculature, softened by the hair on Paul's chest and belly as it caught in the waning daylight. Paul thread his fingers into Daryl’s hair, still damp with sweat. With gentle hands, Daryl moved over Paul’s skin. Whisper-light touches across his arms and shoulders, turned him in place and earning a stifled giggle, fingers following the ripples of his spine. 

Daryl could only find one old scar, above the right hip, as he turned the other man again, to face him. He ran his hands beneath the fabric of Paul’s pants and let gravity take them as he placed a kiss on the small white flaw in the skin. Paul trembled under his lips. Experimentally, Daryl placed another kiss in the same spot and watched Paul's reaction. Paul's eyes slipped closed as his body tensed and his fingers dug into Daryl's biceps. He earned a gasp by sucking the skin of Paul's hip into his mouth, leaving a bruise. With a deep breath, Daryl worked at mapping Paul's stomach and chest with his mouth, holding on to the firm flesh of his ass and thighs. Rough tongue over the sensitive skin of chest and belly, feeling the quiver of coiled desire beneath his lips. Paul's moans and the feel of his body responding to Daryl's mouth left them both breathless. Paul looked down to see Daryl nuzzling his erection through his boxers. He broke when he saw Daryl's nostrils flare, breathing in the scent of Paul's arousal.

"Fuck, Daryl." Unable to be passive any longer, Paul leaned down to capture his partner's lips in a heated kiss. Neither man could get enough. Two men starving for touch, for connection, to feel alive, devouring each other. Paul actually whimpered when Daryl’s hand reached behind him, under the fabric of his boxers, chasing the heat he found there. He tried to push his lover down onto the bed, but Daryl pushed back, pulling away and finding a nipple. Paul hissed as teeth pulled against the sensitive flesh, and then suckled soothingly as his boxers were being dragged down his legs. Daryl gently turned them both, and tossed the garment onto the floor. The sight before him gave him pause.

Breathless, Paul was an absolute mess. His hair fell in a glorious tangle, lips swollen. Any reservations Daryl had about his attraction to men vanished in that moment. Sweat, grease, dirt, blood stained skin followed the ragged rise and fall of labored breath, increased adrenaline fueled by anticipation, by knowing that he had caused that wanton, desperate look. 

Paul absently took his own cock in his hand. "I need you to touch me."

"Wanna check me first?” Daryl said teased, as he pulled off his own shirt.

"Yes.” Paul grinned back. “Please?" Daryl could deny Paul nothing, and quickly shed the rest of his clothing.

Laying side by side, bodies pressed firmly against one another, they kissed, hands continuing to memorize the hills and plains of each others bodies. Paul found the spot he knew would make Daryl melt in his hands, nipping at the sensitive spot over his jugular. He worried Daryl's skin there as he took both of their cocks into his hand. It was Daryl's turn to tremble as his lover stroked them both. The pace was languid, Paul's grip gentle. Taking a muscular thigh in his hand, Daryl dragged Paul closer, rocking into him in an effort increase the exquisite friction. 

"Need. More." Daryl ground out before pulling Paul into an intense kiss, and reaching down to meet Paul's hand. They stroked each other, knuckles grazing, swollen, sensitive heads rubbing against one another. The sensation of someone else's hand pulling moans from his body was too much for Daryl. He arched into Paul, and the scout pulled away to watch his lover fall apart.  
"Fuck, baby, you are so gorgeous." Paul's voice was nearly a sob as he fought to keep his eyes open, losing as they both spilled over each other's hands.

Paul was quick to recover, leaning down to kiss his lover’s eyes, the bridge of his nose, his forehead. “I needed...” Daryl huffed out. “I needed to make sure...”

“I know. Shhhh. I know.” And Paul did know. He combed his fingers through Daryl’s hair, sharing languid kisses until they both fell asleep.


	8. Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped on a run, they finally talk.

Present Day

The sound of the herd outside the small gift shop was deafening. Thankfully, the store only housed one long-dead employee, who had apparently “opted out”. Glenn and Tara pulled fleece blankets off the shelves, bedding down for the night, even though the sun hadn’t quite set. They would be cut off for hours, and it was unwise to travel at night. Their truck was over a mile away.

Paul sat in the large display window, hidden by grey plastic sheeting that must have been put up by the late owner. Through one small seam, he could watch the undead pass by without attracting attention.

Daryl absently rummaged through the store, trying to think of uses for any of the many trinkets and baubles. Novelty flashlights and lighters were always useful, as would be the blankets and fleece sweatshirts. He grabbed a simple, yet ridiculously expensive souvenir tote bag and began stuffing it full of batteries, single-use cold medicine packets, bug spray and bandaids. 

“That can wait, man, get some rest.” Glenn sat on his nest of dusty blankets, arms on his knees. Tara sat next to him gnawing on a piece of jerky from her pack. 

“Be dark soon. Wanna make the most of the light. Come morning, I wanna get goin.” He grabbed another tote and emptied the rack of reading glasses into it. 

Silently, Paul grabbed another bag and began doing the same. 

“Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.” Daryl barely looked up as Paul began looting the other side of the shop. 

With a heavy sigh, Glenn lay back, arms over his eyes. He and Tara settled in, boots on and still armed.

Like they had been doing for weeks now, Daryl and Paul circled each other silently. Paul had taken off his coat, but still wore his vest, cargos and knives. Daryl had set his crossbow down close to Glenn, but also had his knife and gun still strapped to his thighs. It took them the better part of an hour, piling boxes of toilet paper, paper towels, tampons from the dispenser in the public bathroom and anything else of use next to the door. When it appeared they had cleaned the place out, Daryl sat in the window, looking out at the herd. 

“Anything?” Paul tossed the last bag in the pile. He sat down on the floor below Daryl’s feet. 

“No. They seem to be stalling out. We might be stuck here awhile.” Daryl sat back, resting his head on the wall behind him. 

It didn’t pass either of their notice: this was the longest conversation they had had since Daryl fled Paul’s trailer. Daryl didn’t want to call attention to it, and Paul didn’t want to break whatever fragile truce they seemed to have. 

“Glad we found this place. Much more for the taking than the last place.” Paul assessed quietly. “We’ll need to grab the truck and circle back here.” Without preamble, Paul offered Daryl a piece of jerky from his own pack, simply holding it up toward him. 

“I’m just glad we got here before the herd. Thanks.” Daryl took the food and began to eat as full dark settled in around them. He chanced a look down at Paul. He could barely see him, just a darker Paul-shaped hole in the gloom. He huffed a laugh to himself. _Paul shaped hole, indeed._

Paul heard him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nuthin.” Darryl filled his mouth with food, so he wouldn’t have to elaborate.

With a sigh and a false start, Paul started to describe the elephant in the room. “I hope we can be friends again... one day... I miss my friend, you know?” He was met with silence. It wasn’t unusual for Daryl to let their conversations become unbalanced. Paul was used to taking up the slack. “We work really well together. I don’t want to lose that. It would be a shame, for everyone, if we lost that.”

Daryl hummed affirmatively. He couldn’t deny they worked well together. 

“I won’t push you. I... I know it won’t be easy. I still care about you.” Daryl shifted uncomfortably behind Paul. “But I hope we can be civil... and maybe friendly.” Paul chanced a look at Daryl sitting in the window. Daryl’s eyes looked as though they were illuminated from the inside, at this angle, the light of the moon reflecting from them as he stared out the tiny slit in the plastic. Daryl swallowed thickly and turned toward him. He dropped into complete shadow. _A Daryl shaped hole in the darkness._

Across the room, Glenn and Tara did not sleep. They glanced at each other as they listened to the men talk at the front of the store. As Daryl and Paul fell silent, Tara threw her blankets off in a huff. Glenn grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “This is bullshit!” Tara whispered, as angrily as one could whisper.

“Give it time.” Glenn whispered back. 

With a huff, Tara threw herself back onto her pallet, brooding. She didn’t hear Daryl’s low response. “I’ll try.” He rasped. 

He couldn’t see Paul’s smile in the dark.


	9. Satellite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first kiss

Twelve weeks ago 

 

Daryl learned quickly that Paul was stealthy, strong, and quick on his feet. If the man ever shut his mouth, he would have made a decent hunting partner. He did, however, make a good sparring partner, and what he lacked in height and brute force, he made up for with finesse and discipline. Daryl would never admit that he enjoyed watching him train with Morgan and teaching anyone who wanted to learn. But whenever Paul caught Daryl watching and invited him to join in, Daryl would scoff and stalk off. And if Paul watched a little too long as he walked away, well, he couldn’t help himself.

Paul had taken to teasing and flirting whenever the opportunity arose. And the blush that would creep up Daryl’s neck was a bonus. Paul would insert himself into Daryl’s day, insisting on tagging along while the hunter checked snares or went hunting. His excuses were lame, and Paul knew it, though he didn’t know how much more obvious he could be. And Daryl didn’t mind. Paul grew on him, like a fungus, Daryl would joke, but truth be told, he grew to enjoy Paul’s steadfast presence at his side. 

Paul was the warmth at his back as they moved quietly through the forest, on the hunt for as long as it took to bring a significant amount of meat back to their family. They tracked a buck for several miles through an area that must have been well known for bagging a decent kill, given the number of deer blinds they saw in the trees. Daryl estimated the animal to be a 6 or 7 point buck, given the markings on the trees. Every so often he would stop to point out a track, a trail of broken branches, bark rubbed away from a tree. Paul would nod and smile appreciatively. He enjoyed getting to see this side of the stoic, often withdrawn man. Late morning on their third day out, Daryl raised his fist, signaling Paul to stop. Daryl crouched and aimed his bow, Paul following the arrow to where it pointed. If the animal hadn’t moved, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. The dappled light glinting off its eyes as it grazed was all he saw of the buck before it fell heavy to the forest floor. Paul hadn’t even registered the sound of the arrow.

Daryl took off running toward the deer, on the chance that his aim had been off and it was suffering. Paul followed, neither man taking the time to be quiet. And when they found their prize, arrow nearly completely through it’s skull, Paul got to see Daryl’s full smile for the very first time. Paul knew then, he was done for. The pride on the other man’s face, the happy glow of seeing a difficult task through to the end, Paul would have done anything to make Daryl smile like that more often.

Carrying the deer between them, they hauled their kill back to where they had left their vehicle. It was past midday, but they would not be able to make it back to Hilltop before nightfall. They agreed to stay the night, hunt for smaller game and leave at first light. 

Paul willingly climbed a tree to help Daryl string up the buck to keep it from becoming a meal for the dead. Daryl watched as Paul peeled off his vest and ran at the tree, scaling it in one leap. He kicked off the trunk at just the perfect angle to spring up and grab the lowest big branch and haul himself up. The way he commanded his body to do exactly as he wanted, left Daryl in awe. Paul grinned down at, long hair over one shoulder and he leaned to catch the rope Daryl was supposed to throw.

“Dixon, you gonna toss me that or what?” The hunter had all but forgotten the rope. His mouth had gone dry. 

Finding his voice, Daryl replied, “Gotta shorten it, might need a few feet for the perimeter.” 

“Keep enough for later! That’s my kink.”

Daryl blushed and gave Paul the finger as he turned to cut the rope. Paul laughed from his perch. 

“It’s beautiful out here. We should use my hammock tonight, instead of the car.” Paul said. Daryl threw him the end of the rope. “We wouldn’t have to keep watch.”

“Oh, so that’s how I get you up a tree?” Daryl quipped. 

“Buy me dinner and you can do whatever you like with me.” Paul winked, typing off the rope. 

Daryl huffed out a laugh. “Slut.” He watched as Paul hauled their kill up by its hind legs and threw the remaining rope back down to Daryl. 

“Only you, baby.”

“Stop.” Daryl’s grumbling was half-hearted at best. 

They managed to get the deer into the tree, secured by all four legs, flirting back and fourth the entire time.

Paul climbed down, jumping up onto Daryl’s back as he turned to start gathering their supplies. “So, can we?” Paul spoke directly into Daryl’s ear. The hunter froze after grabbing on the scout’s muscular legs, to keep them both from falling. 

“Can we what?” His voice was low and wary, his body sparking with the weight and heat of the man on his back. 

“Put up the hammock.” Paul popped off Daryl and grinned like a teenager. 

“Whatever.” 

Paul slapped him on the shoulder and went to gather his own hunting supplies.

Hours later, Paul’s arms shook with the weight of the crossbow held in front of him for far longer than he thought was necessary. The fatigue in his muscles was not the primary cause of his heavy breathing, however. The unintentional grind of Daryl against his ass was driving him to distraction. He could barely make out the shape of the rabbit in the waning light, and Daryl was behind him, one hand on his hip, the other on his wrist, firmly positioning his body. The hunter’s face was nearly nuzzled into his own neck and he was all too aware of his scent. It was dizzying. 

“You’re gonna breathe in, from your diaphragm and pull the trigger on your exhale. On three,” Daryl barely breathed the words into his ear, his big hand coming around to splay fingers against his solar plexus. “One... two...” they inhaled together, “three.”

When he pulled the trigger, Daryl’s hand pulled him back into his chest. It was involuntary, but the intimacy of the reaction was not lost on either of them. The hunter attempted to ignore it and Paul resisted the temptation to turn his head and close the gap between their mouths. 

“You got it.” Daryl let his smile grow as he released his grip on Paul. He bounded quickly over to where the rabbit lay dead amongst the leaves, and brought it back to where his companion stood. The other man was still, eyes closed, willing his body to stop its ill advised arousal.

“Did good.” Paul opened his eyes to see the other man holding a fat rabbit by the ears, smiling that gorgeous, lopsided smile. Daryl leaned in close, “Thanks for bagging dinner, sweetie.” The man would be the death of Hilltops only scout.

Back at their camp, Daryl made short work of their small game, prepping it for the campfire. A few yards away, Paul had once again climbed a tree, hammock clipped to his belt in a small bag. He expertly hung it high between two large trees and showed off a little parkour on the way down.

“Fuckin ninja...” Daryl said under his breath as the other man made his way over, panting from exertion. “Think that thing will hold us?”

“I know it will. It’ll be cozy, but it will definitely hold.” Paul sat down next the Daryl, both upwind of the fire. Daryl raised an eyebrow. _Cosy?_

They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the fruits of their labor. Paul took care of the entrails and the bones from their meal while Daryl stoked the fire from cooking embers to warming flames. They sat against a fallen log, dragged over for the purpose, vehicle at their back. Their perimeter was already set up- bottle rockets on a trip wire that would both alert them to anything coming their way, and divert the attention of the undead away from their camp. 

Paul tapped Daryl on the shoulder with a small metal tin, eyebrows raised. Daryl nodded his approval with a small smile. They didn’t often imbibe, but today had been a good day.

Paul rolled a generous joint from the supplies in the tin. He scooted closer to Daryl as he lit it, so their shoulders nearly touched. They passed it back and forth, savoring their treat. 

“Hey,” Paul said quietly as he offered the joint back to Daryl. He received a relaxed hum in reply. “Thanks. For today. I had fun.”

Daryl eyed him warily as he took a hit. He had always been suspect of compliments; they had always a been backhanded, evil way to get him to let his guard down. He would be more vulnerable, and the abuse he would suffer would be worse, because for a moment, a mere moment, he had felt proud, wanted... cared for.

Turning back to the flames, he tried to deflect. “Weren’t nothin. Someone else needs to know how to hunt. You got the skills.” He shrugged, hoping the conversation was over. 

“I have a good teacher.” Paul’s voice was low, and Daryl could feel those enormous eyes taking him in. 

Daryl watched as the wood in the tiny campfire turned to ash that drifted up into the sky on the current of air made as it slowly cooled. He watched as the ash tried to turn into stars, feeling Paul studying him. At some point, Paul had turn toward him, closer, and Daryl could feel the heat coming off him.

“You are a man of few words. You like to make people think you’re not engaged, but I know you see things most people don’t. Things other people wouldn’t know to look for.” Paul whispered, “What goes on inside that head?”

Daryl turned and leveled a look at Paul that made his skin spark. He trembled as Daryl spoke, his voice quiet and low. “Really wanna know?” Paul could only nod. “I was thinking about those huge telescope arrays they have in the desert, like Mexico and South America. They just look at one tiny bit of space, taking in all the light and radiation- it could be a totally black space from where we are, but eventually, it gathers enough light that scientists can see millions of new galaxies, new stars... that’s what I think about when I see your eyes lookin at me.” Daryl trailed off, embarrassed now with how intently Paul listened.

Paul himself was speechless. It was the most he had heard from Daryl that wasn’t about walkers or fighting or arguing. The urge to touch the man next to him made him clench his fists in his lap, afraid to break whatever spell had the other man talking. Finally, swallowing the awe he felt, he found his voice. “So you think, that when I look at you, I can see the stars and galaxies and new suns... when other people might dismiss what appears to be a big, dark, empty space?”

“Yeah. That’s what you said, isn’t it?” Daryl gave his lopsided grin as Paul’s smile grew. Daryl reached over and tried to put the joint between Paul’s lips.

“Share the last hit with me?” Paul asked, he caught the hand holding the joint and took it. Daryl frowned, not understanding. Taking a long drag from the spent joint, Paul held his breath and leaned toward him. He let Paul’s hand come up to his neck and hold him there, as his lips came within millimeters of kissing him. Paul took a second to meet Daryl’s questioning eyes, and pursed his lips. Daryl gasped as Paul let out a breath of heavy, fragrant smoke. His gasp drew in the tendrils of smoke, and they quickly floated like the arms of a sea creature from one man’s lips to the other. Paul’s eyes slipped closed and Daryl attempted to lean forward, seeking the last of their fleeting shared breath.

Daryl closed the gap between them, and pressed his lips to Paul’s. He pulled back to exhale, licking his lips and watching Paul open his eyes, not knowing what to expect. They parted a few inches, before Paul smiled and pushed back into his space to kiss him again. Daryl leaned into him and kissed him back. With a hum of appreciation, Daryl began to lean back, bring Paul and his beautiful lips with him, opening up to let the other man taste him.

The spell was broken by the sudden POP and fizzle of a bottle rocket going off away from their camp. As the bottle rocket burst into dozens of brightly colored embers, Daryl doused the fire. Paul was up and across camp before the last ember faded. Paul signaled to Daryl to stay put before disappearing into the inky black forest. Knowing the threat would either be handled or Paul would use their bird call to ask for help, Daryl began gathering supplies to reset the perimeter from the back of their vehicle. No more than ten minutes passed before he could see the deliberate walk of his companion coming back to camp.

“Just one.” Paul confirmed. “We should get into the tree in case there are more.”

“Reset.” Daryl tossed the small device wrapped with a good length of wire over the Paul, who nodded and walked back to reset their alarm. Daryl stashed the rest of their gear and made sure the fire was out. Whatever they needed was already in the hammock or on their bodies. 

After much swearing from Daryl and much giggling from Paul, the two finally got settled in the hammock. It was definitely cozy. Wide enough that they could each turn over comfortably, but small enough that they had to touch, the hammock was solidly anchored, barely swaying with their movements as they spread out their blankets and got comfortable. Daryl lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring up at the stars, while Paul was turned on his side, using his elbow for a pillow.

“Hi.” Paul broke the silence as they began to truly relax.

“Hey.” Daryl turned to fully meet Paul’s gaze. 

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah. I did. I was high.”

“Oh.”

The men regarded one another for a moment, the tables turned. Paul was nervous and pulled the blanket closer around himself, while Daryl leaned over with a smile. He caressed the thick scruff of beard on Paul’s cheek, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. 

“I’m not high now though.” Daryl whispered, before pulling Paul into another kiss.


	10. Meteors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the universe gives you a sign.

Present Day

It was lonely at the outpost between Hilltop and Alexandria. The halfmoon and the dark of the Virginia forest made it lonelier still. Daryl dutifully paced around the perimeter of the walkway built above the cabin. He could see for miles in every direction from the walkway and could just make out the light of the new watch tower at Hilltop. He lost some sight lines when he came to his perch, however, forcing him to focus on the immediate surroundings.

With a sigh, he sat down in his uncomfortable camp chair, crossbow at his side, Beretta in it’s holster at his hip. He considered going inside to sleep but he knew his racing mind would keep him up. He knew it was a bad idea to be out there alone – outposts weren’t supposed to be manned until next week. He couldn’t be behind the same walls as Paul right now, and he sure as hell couldn’t be in Alexandria, breathing the same air as Negan.

He had hours stretched out before him to think, to be inside his own head. A blessing and a curse. No chatty ninja to get into his head…. No one to get into his head, and no one to distract him from his self-deprecating thoughts. From his father’s beatings, drawing blood more often than not, when he couldn’t escape into the woods, to his brother’s abandonment, to every mistake he had made. His brother’s mantra, _”Aint nobody gonna love you ‘cept me, Little Brother”_ was stuck in his head like a bad song on repeat. The only voice to cut through was Beth’s. A new voice and a new song, cut off like a scratched record. Every time someone crossed the line to become _something more_ , they were taken from him. If he kept his heart locked in it’s concrete box, repeating the same song over and over and over, and stayed on a regular diet of dogfood sandwiches, he might live to see another day.

Paul’s voice, though, would often slip through the space under the door. It would remind him that Merle was as damaged as Daryl was and bore just as many scars. Paul insisted that he remember: if Merle said the sky was green, it didn’t make it true. Even though he had lost people he loved, he had many more that were still with him, still at his side. Beyond the pain, on the other side of it, was the reminder of how much they meant to him. It was the scars no one could see, the sheer pain of losing someone, that physical ache in his arms when he reached out for Herschel or Beth or Denise. Paul said he should wear them proudly. There was no shame in loving someone and hurting when they were gone. The only shame would be in forgetting you loved them, in letting go of what they meant to you.

But how many scars could one person have? How many until the pain was peeling off your skin and leaving you defenseless? 

Beside his chair, the long-range walkie-talkie lit up and crackled to life.

“Daryl? Are you there? Over.”

“I’m here.”

Daryl heard the exasperated sigh on the other end of the line. “What are you doin out there alone? Everything OK?” It was Paul. Checking up on him.

Daryl stood and slowly paced to the other side of the walkway, stopping at the corner. “I’m fine. Tell Maggie I’m sorry I left without saying anything.”

“Will do. If you’re gonna be at the outpost, we’re gonna stick to protocol. Every four hours?” 

Daryl frowned at the walkie, the green glow a reflection of the annoyance he felt right then. “Yeah, four hours. But…” He grumbled into the handset as he looked up into the sky. Above him, the a meteor shower was raining streaks of light across the sky. The foliage of the trees where he had been sitting had blocked his view.

“But what? Daryl?”

“Paul, are you seeing this?”

“What’s happening?”

“Look up, stupid. Look at the sky.” Daryl was grinning now, his body relaxing.

The walkie went to static for a moment, before Paul was yelling into it, “Holy shit, that’s beautiful!”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” Daryl’s voice was low and quiet. “The Tears of St. Lawrence.”

“What was that?” Daryl could hear other voices every time Paul spoke.

Daryl clarified, “Perseid meteor shower. It used to be called the Tears of St. Lawrence. While they were canonizing Larry on the barbecue, they saw the meteors. Didn’t get changed for hundreds of years until we had telescopes and shit.”

The walkies were silent, as both men took in the celestial show. Without light pollution to dull the sky, it was glorious. Daryl had seen this phenomena many times before, out in the woods, alone. Now, the absence of artificial light was so complete, the darkest night in the mountains could not compare to what he saw this night. It was as close to an event horizon as he would ever see. For the first time, he longed to have someone at his side. His skin itched, and his arms ached. He wanted to reach out, but no one was there. Gazing up at the cosmos, he had never felt so alone.

“Paul? You still there?” The walkie sent back static. “Paul? Over.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.”

“I’m sorry. Fuck... I wish you were here.” Daryl held the walkie against his forehead as he spoke, eyes clamped shut, attempting to shut out anything that wasn’t Paul’s voice. “I was wrong. I hope… I hope it’s not too late, for us.”

There was a long silence from the walkie. Daryl could do nothing except wait. 

“I’m here.” Paul sensed his response was hanging in the air. “It’s never too late.” Daryl let out a relieved sob, one that no one else would ever hear or see. “If you’re serious. I can’t do it again, Daryl. You almost killed me, you know.” Daryl could hear the tremble of Paul’s lips.

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. If you forgive me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you.” Daryl looked up at the sky and wiped away tears, of pain, of relief, of joy. 

“When will you be home?” Home. A concept so enticing, Daryl had to talk himself down from getting on his bike and leaving the outpost in the dark. 

“Corey and Siobhan are relaying some supplies from Oceanside. Just came early to get some air. A day or two at the most.”

“I’ll be here.” Paul replied, his voice hoarse over the walkie talkie. “G’night love.”

Daryl’s smile caught the tears that continued to fall as he slid down the railing to the floor of the walkway. “Night.”

Cool relief flooding through him, his tears cleansing as he let them fall. He sat there crying until the meteors stopped falling.


	11. Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all endings are happy.

Present Day

Friendly visitors didn’t require a bell. Two rings mean “we could use a few extra hands”. Three? Weapons ready. More than three rings of the bell at Hilltop meant something was very, very wrong.

Kal saw the runner from the scope of his rifle. The young woman wasn’t just running, she was sprinting. Before she could round the corner from the paved road to the gate, she cut through a field of thistles. She had no pack, no gun, and no water.

“Something is wrong – open the gate!” Kal called over to Stan, his watch partner. Stan put all his weight into the pulley that would open the gate as Kal began wailing on the bell.

Paul and Maggie came out of Paul’s trainer, pulling weapons from the holsters on their hips and hurried toward the gate. Other Hilltop residents dropped their work and came out of their homes, armed and ready.

Just inside the gate, the runner – Siobhan, Maggie recognized – gasped for air, trying to speak. She was doubled over and leaning heavily on the community’s blacksmith, Earl. She was covered in scratches, oozing blood from the thistles.

“Daryl – coming – closer – than home – had to – cut off – arms – bleeding – badly. Aaron, Daryl – have Corey.”

Maggie rushed up to Siobhan, who looked ready to pass out, clothes stuck to her body with sweat. Maggie kneeled to hear what Siobhan was desperately trying to convey. “Take a deep breath, Slow down.” Maggie said.

Paul had heard it. Daryl’s arms had been cut off. Aaron was with him. They were on their way here. 

Paul froze in place and the world stopped turning. His knuckles were white as he gripped the knife strapped to his chest.

Daryl was coming here, bleeding badly, arms cut off.

Daryl bleeding badly.

Daryl.

If it hadn’t been long ingrained in the man to establish and keep a strong physical base, he would have fallen over.

He saw Maggie mobilize her people, he heard someone yell for Dr. Carson, but he was unable to process more than Siobhan’s words. He felt Dr. Carson run past him and watched as the doctor jumped into the bed of the pickup truck, bag in hand. The people moving around him did not register. The picture he had in his head of Daryl walking through the gate lay in pieces at his feet.

Jesus.

“Jesus?”

The truck had kicked up a cloud of dust as it’s driver put the pedal down to the floor and raced out of the gate. It was nothing compared to the fog in Paul’s head.

Enid leaned in close and placed her hand gently on Paul’s, where he clutched his knife.

“Jesus? You OK?” She lowered her head to meet his glazed eyes. She noted that the man was pale; even his pouty pink lips were waxen. His eyes fixated on the place where Siobhan had been standing, vaguely aware of blood mixed with sweat having dripped off her clothes, staining the ground. “Hey. Jesus, we need you.”

With a blink, the world snapped back into focus for Paul and began turning again. He answered Enid’s concerned frown with one of his own.

“Yeah. Yes. I’ll go get things ready in the med trailer.” He spun on his heel and jogged to Dr. Carson’s trailer.

With shaky hands, Paul hung a bag of saline above an open bed, priming it. Gauze, clamps, sterile instruments laid out on a sterile tray. He pulled over the respirator and got out a new intubation set. He worked quickly, reciting the items Dr. Carson would need under his breath. It kept him focused, moving. Morphine, epinephrine, versed, fentanyl, syringes and secondary tubing. He switched a nasal cannula out for a mask on the oxygen tank.

He was startled by the door to the trailer slamming open as he pulled out ace wraps and pressure bandages. “They’re here.” He only saw the back of Enid’s head as she ran back out into the courtyard. He dropped the load in his arms onto the counter and followed her out, nearly tripping down the stairs, as the pickup barreled straight for the medical trailer. 

A cloud of dust in its wake, the truck stopped a few feet from the stairs, and once again, Paul’s world stopped moving. He gripped the railing of the trailer stairs, trying to find his breath as his chest constricted. There was a flurry of movement and noise, people shouting commands, the doors of the truck opening and slamming shut. He felt, rather than heard people jumping out of the back of the truck, the scrape of metal on metal as a litter was dragged out, heavy with the weight of a full grown man. Boots on the wooden steps to the trailer shook the railing as he held on, blood like molasses dripping from the litter and splashing like raindrops onto the wood. When he dared to look up, he saw the dust near the pickup beginning to settle, and a familiar piece of clothing crumpled near the foot of the stairs. Black leather, dirty grey angel wings tinged pink, the vest slick with blood and gore. He watched Enid pick it up off the ground, and turn toward him. He couldn’t breathe, and his mind couldn’t catch up with the frenzy of movement around him. He could only focus on Enid’s hands. 

“Too fucking late!” Aaron’s voice cut through the dust like a bullet, his sob like a hammer in Paul’s head as he crashed out of the trailer, throwing something in anger as he stopped on the top step. 

And then Paul was running. His feet and legs taking him away, away, away. He didn’t get further than the stables, where his inability to catch his breath stopped him. Collapsing on his knees he clutched at his chest, to stop the tearing pain there, to breathe, to force the world to start turning again. “It’s not too late. Promised it wasn’t too late.” He could only gasp around the worlds threatening to drag him under, threatening to pull his heart out through his mouth. He was certain he would vomit and see it quivering in front of him on the sparse grass, his heart falling to pieces. 

It was too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly sorry


	12. Orbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first time.

(Twelve weeks ago, Satelites cont.)

Daryl nervously tapped his fingers against the driver’s side door as he and Paul waited for the gate to open far enough to let them pass. The ride back to Hilltop was comfortable and quiet, their only worry was how soon their time alone together would end. As soon as the vehicle stopped on the other side of the gates, they would have little time to be alone. Their game needed to be properly butchered however, and that need trumped everything else.

“So… I’m not out to my family yet.” Daryl said softly. He expected disappointment, but received a soft, understanding smile in return.

“Would you like to be?” Paul asked.

Daryl inhaled sharply, rubbing at his bottom lip – a nervous habit. “Gimme some time?”

“Of course.” Paul reached out and placed his hand on Daryl’s shoulder, giving an affectionate squeeze. Daryl gave him a lopsided grin. The gate was nearly open enough for the vehicle to fit. He started to reach for the gearshift but caught Paul’s hand instead.

“C’mere.” He pulled Paul into an affectionate kiss that Paul was all too eager to return. “See you after I get this buck seen to?”

Paul’s eyes were sparkling as he hummed in agreement. “Don’t forget the rope.” 

Daryl turned seven shades of red, before turning and pulling the car through the gate. “You’re an asshole.” He grumbled, though the smile was still there.

Paul couldn’t help but laugh. “Yours now, baby.”

Daryl rolled his eyes as Paul bolted from the vehicle, laughing.

Daryl refused to leave his kill with just anyone, and it took him awhile to find someone strong enough to help him get it into the freezer at Barrington House. It was cool there, even if there was no electricity to use it as a freezer. The deer needed a few days to rest before being butchered, and he was eager to be able to do it properly. 

As he left the kitchen, it hit him that he and Paul would be alone in Paul’s trailer. Nervousness quivered in his belly. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, and even then it was only ever anonymous sex in a seedy bathroom stall or up against a wall in an alley. The most luxurious place he’d ever done it was the in the back of a limousine, and that time earned him $250. He ended up spending the money on heroin for Merle.

While he wasn’t inexperienced, he had never done anything with someone he cared for. But, oh God, he craved it. He had learned fairly quickly that a man’s touch was painful, something to be feared. It came with so many conditions, so much fine print. His father only ever touched him to strike him. His brother only ever slung an arm around his shoulders when he wanted something. And when the world fell to pieces, the learned response of protecting himself from every potential touch was tough to break out of. A slap on the shoulder from Glenn, a brotherly hug from Rick, each new touch a revelation.

And then he met Paul. A man who could touch him from across a room with just a look and send shivers down his spine. A man who could be lethal one moment and catch a moth in his hands in the next breath, to set it free. Paul could snap a man’s neck before his victim even registered his presence, and hold Judith in those same hands, rocking her to sleep. Daryl had felt those hands against his own skin, and each time, they were defending someone or something. Even the day they met, Paul only defended himself, and never truly harmed Daryl nor Rick. He never struck first, never lashed out in anger. The nights Daryl woke up in Paul’s arms, thrashing against the fading remnants of a nightmare, those hands were there to keep his demons at bay.

They weren’t able to do much beyond kissing, hanging above the trees in the hammock. Just the mere thought of Paul’s lips on his own set him alight. Slowly, Daryl walked toward Paul’s trailer, nursing a cigarette, wondering if those hands would be gentle or rough. Would Paul go slow, or would his touch be demanding? Either way, he knew, like he knew the color of his own eyes, they would never hurt him. So, with a length of rope tucked into the back of his jeans, he opened the door to Paul’s trailer.

Paul sat at the table, freshly showered, his hair pulled up. He wore only a thin tank top and a loose pair of pants. He was reading, absently picking at a plate of fruit and raw vegetables. He gave Daryl a shy smile as the hunter came in, setting his crossbow next to the door and shrugged off his vest. After unlacing and tugging off his boots, he reached back and pulled out the rope, setting it down in the center of the table, giving Paul a lecherous grin. 

“Gonna go shower.” Daryl drawled, before Paul could say anything about the rope.

In the bathroom Daryl found a fresh set of clothes laid out for him, along with a towel too fluffy for the apocalypse. He was thankful to find only basic Ivory soap and plain shampoo in the shower stall. While it wasn’t the steamy hot of Alexandria’s showers, it was enough to relax under. He was tense, still considering how this night might end. He washed his hair twice and brushed his teeth standing in the shower until it ran cold. Toweling off and pulling on just a clean pair of pants, he reasoned that nothing that happened tonight could be any worse than any other unknown he had walked into.

It startled Paul, to see Daryl in the flickering lantern light, shirtless, hair still dripping. He hadn’t known what to expect when the other man was done with his shower. Paul lost himself in his book to calm his nerves. He couldn’t help but smile: the beginning of all his wicked fantasies straddling a chair next to him.

“Wanna show you something.” Daryl rasped. Paul shivered hearing the other man’s tone of voice. He watched as Daryl took a knife to an apple and cut it in half in one fluid motion. He held the two halves together in one hand, as if it was a fragile, priceless object. “No one has ever seen this. It’s unique, and we’re the first two people to ever see it.” Daryl opened the apple to reveal the sweet, white flesh and shiny seeds.

Paul blinked, and was properly in awe of Daryl’s proclamation. “Wow. We see this nearly every day…”

“But never this one. No one has ever cut into this apple before.” Daryl offered half to Paul, before cutting a slice from his half.

“And we had to destroy it to see inside.” Paul considered, his voice soft.

“Exactly.” Daryl spoke around his bite of apple.

Paul looked up to find Daryl’s blue eyes watching him with interest. They ate in silence for awhile, not bothering to hide the obvious heated looks being thrown across the small distance between them.

“Whatcha drinkin?” Daryl asked. 

Paul finished his sip from his cup. “Tea. You want some?”

“Got honey?” Daryl asked.

Paul nodded as he rose to fill a glass with hot water from the kettle, giving Daryl a look that said, _Of course!_ “I still have the Tupelo honey you gave me.” Paul shook the tiny jar before opening it to drizzle some into Daryl’s cup. He came around the table to set it down in front of him, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder.

It was such a natural movement, for Daryl to take a drink as Paul moved behind him to put both hands on his shoulders. He ran his hands down Daryl’s arms and back up, his palms warm again the moisture-cool skin.

“This OK?” Paul asked as he increased the pressure of his hands. Daryl just hummed affirmatively. He held the hot mug of tea between both hands to ground himself. Paul’s hands moved over him, firm but gentle, never leaving his skin. He massaged one tense shoulder before trailing his fingers across the back of his neck to the other. He could feel the muscles relax under his hands, and could see Daryl opening for him, as his head would stretch away from his touch, to allow Paul better access.

Paul had seen the scars on Daryl’s back, when he’d helped him take off Dwight’s clothing, after rescuing him from the Sanctuary. He didn’t question them them and didn’t want to question them now. In the months since, the pair had many opportunities to see each other in flagrante delicto. This was, however, the first time he’d been allowed to touch. Following Daryl’s collarbone down and around to his chest, the scars on Paul’s own body were visible. Dozens of stringy white and pink scars tracing the veins of his forearms, a testament to his own struggles. Daryl saw them as Paul continued to work his levator scapulae and trapezius muscles.

Abruptly, Daryl took Paul’s hand and kissed the inside of his wrist, looking up at the young man behind him. Without preamble and still holding Paul’s hand, he stood and turned to give Paul the most heated and loving look – it made Paul gasp. Daryl put a large, warm hand on the small of Paul’s back and pulled him in for a kiss. Eyes open, the kiss was chaste. Daryl pulled away, gently tracing Paul’s lower lip with his thumb.

“What do you want?” Daryl asked, the timbre of his voice causing Paul to tremble where he stood.

“Everything.” Paul pulled Daryl down for another kiss and they were both lost.

Eventually they made their way to Paul’s bed, where they shed what little clothing they still had on. Daryl took both of Paul’s shoulders and released him from their embrace, so he could sit on the bed. Paul was overwhelmed at having Daryl’s body standing so close to him, leaning forward to nuzzle at Daryl’s taught belly, face and lips mere inches from his cock. Daryl’s breath hitched, Paul’s soft hair tickling his primed flesh. But instead of letting Paul take him into those soft, waiting lips, Daryl got on his knees.

Paul’s lips were swollen, his pupils completely blown black, hair an angelic tangle of gold, watching Daryl kiss and lick his inner thighs, the hunter’s eyes never leaving his face. He finally took Paul in hand and began worshiping the man with his mouth. Alternating long strokes with deep, long pulls from base to tip, Daryl had Paul shaking. It was all Paul could do to keep himself semi-upright so he could watch, hands fisting in the worn quilt on his bed.

Paul caught the sight of Daryl reaching down to pleasure himself. “Can I… Can I have you inside me?”

“You got-“

“Drawer.” 

Daryl smiled and reached over to the bedside table where he found the Astroglide. He poured a generous amount in his hand and followed his lover further onto the bed. He claimed Paul’s mouth again, kissing the other man senseless. Paul wrapped a shaky hand around Daryl’s cock, enjoying the feel of the moans he pulled out. Daryl slowly started to work Paul open, his fingers mirroring Paul’s hand on him.

Paul had given himself over completely. He enjoyed sex, but this was all of his naughty dreams happening all at once. The quiet, mercurial hunter he had come to care for was in his bed, taking control and making him tremble like a virgin. He was slowly working the other man’s penis against his own, smearing precome over his thighs; he wasn’t even sure whose it was. It took all of Paul’s willpower to stay in control as his lover pushed another of his thick fingers inside him, whimpering against Daryl’s shoulder. Tongues and teeth and hands found those places that made one man gasp, and the other man moan. Paul discovered that plucking Daryl’s nipples with his teeth would earn him a filthy string of swear words and leave the hunter breathless and keening. 

“You are so fucking tight... I don’t know if I’m gonna last very long inside you.” Daryl husked into Paul’s ear. 

Paul writhed in pleasure, trying to help his lover find his prostate, while Daryl purposely pulled back, just shy of reaching it. “I need you, so fucking bad. Please?” Paul whined.

“You sure?” Daryl rocked his hips into Paul, grinding their cocks together. Paul could only nod.

With reluctance, Daryl pulled out of their warm embrace to ready himself with the Astroglide, Paul’s cock twitching and leaking against his stomach. He leaned over and captured Paul lips, pushing his knees up and pressing inside. They groaned in unison at the sensation, trying to watch each other as they rocked their hips together, working Daryl’s cock deep into Paul’s body. Paul lost the silent challenge, his long eyelashes fluttering, eyes closing as Daryl found his prostate.

“Right there?” Daryl watched as Paul’s skin flushed deeper, his brow furrowing in the effort to control his own body.

“Oh yeah.” Paul’s response was breathy.

“Damn, you are so beautiful.” Daryl gently pushed a few strands of hair away from Paul’s face, eager to see his lover come apart. And as he began to move, he was not disappointed. 

With every deep thrust, Paul’s cock wept a steady stream of semen again the pale skin of his stomach, his body wrapped tightly around Daryl’s own. His lithe body was slick with sweat, gripping Daryl’s own musculature wherever he could find purchase. Deft fingers wove themselves into Daryl’s hair in a vain attempted to stay grounded. 

Daryl sucked deep bruises to Paul’s collarbone, marking him like an animal in heat, nipping at the salty skin of his neck. The man beneath him felt like everything Daryl had been missing: warmth, affection, need. He trailed lingering kisses down the column of Paul’s throat, enjoying the feel of sparse hair against his lips as he came to the well defined pecs. The angle of his body inside Paul’s changed slightly as he leaned down to suck a pert pink nipple into his mouth. 

“Fuck... shit, baby, I’m gonna-“ Paul cried out and Daryl kissed him hard, as his orgasm overtook him. Daryl followed, muffling his own cry into Paul’s shoulder, as he fell apart. The men gripped one another as if one of them would float away. 

Sweat-slick bodies lay in a heap on the bed, the remnants of two men who both desperately needed the connection of filling each other most base desires, gasping for air. Daryl opened his eyes to find Paul watching him with a small smile. “What?” Daryl asked. He didn’t have the strength to even attempt to disentangle his limbs from Paul’s. 

“Thank you.” Paul caressed the hunters face and his smile grew as Daryl leaned in to it with a smile of his own, blushing.

“Next time we’ll have to use that rope.” Daryl teased. Paul laughed and let his blissful, smiling hunter roll off of him. Despite the mess, they fell asleep, sated, while the world went on outside without them.


	13. Stitches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then the world started turn again.

Present Day

He could hear Aaron’s voice, but it was if he was hearing it through water. Even though he had his arms wrapped tightly around himself, his body shivered, trembled as his tears ran dry. He was vaguely aware of a warm, comforting presence staying near, but he couldn’t process much of anything.

“Jesus. I need you to come back to us. Daryl needs you to come back to us.” Aaron’s voice was in his ear, his hands moving Paul’s weak limbs and attempting to force him to stand. 

“Yeah. Gotta say goodbye.” Paul’s voice was hollow, haunted. He let Aaron get him to his feet, and put his weight against his friend as they walked back to Dr. Carson’s trailer. Each step up to the door was loud in his ears, his head pounding from the force of his grief. Aaron let Paul go, so he could open the trailer door, a shaky breath escaping Paul’s chest. Aaron gave the other man a sympathetic glance.

Before Aaron opened the door, Paul heard it. A pained hiss, followed by muttered curses. Aaron saw the look of confusion and utter disbelief pass over Paul’s face.

“C’mon, Carson! Just put a fuckin bandage on it already!”

Paul nearly knocked Aaron over as he lunged through the trailer door, to witness the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Shirtless Daryl Dixon, walker entrails in his hair and a nasty gash in his forearm sitting on the exam table, where Dr. Carson was finishing up sutures.

Daryl had no time to react, as Paul was enveloping him in a breath-stealing embrace. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Daryl, confused, wrapped his uninsured arm around Paul. “Paul? You alright?” He looked to Aaron who watched from the doorway, also confused.

Paul took the hunter’s face in his hands and with tears streaming down his face, he pressed their foreheads together. “I thought it was you, baby. I thought it was you. I thought it was you.”

Understanding dawned on Aaron’s face. “Jesus, it was Corey. We lost Corey.” He came into the trailer and put a reassuring hand on Paul’s back, where he could feel the fear and grief moving through his trembling body.

Daryl pulled back and looked Paul in the eye. “I’m gonna be just fine. We tried to get Corey back here, but it was too late- he lost too much blood.” Daryl blinked back a few tears.

Paul kissed Daryl’s forehead. “I thought it was you. Siobhan said- I misunderstood- and-“

“It’s OK. I’m OK.” Daryl reassured. 

Aaron gently began pulling Paul away. “Daryl will be fine, Jesus, I promise.” Dr. Carson confirmed from where he had been standing beside the exam table. “I have to cover these stitches, but then he’s all yours.” Dr. Carson and Aaron shared a look. Reluctantly, Paul moved away. He refused to go far, however. He slid down the cabinets next to the exam table, clutching Daryl’s hand. He was exhausted; going from bone crushing grief to relieved elation had Paul reeling.

Paul refused to let Daryl’s hand go when he was released from the medical trailer. He didn’t care that Daryl’s skin was streaked with blood, hair matted with entrails, coppery flakes of dried gore on his jeans. Paul pressed himself as close as he could into the hunter’s side as they made their way home.

Inside the trailer, neither man spoke as Paul helped Daryl out of his clothes, tossing them near the door to be burned later. Wincing in pain whenever he attempted to use his injured arm, Daryl finally gave in to let Paul undress him. Once he was down to his boxer briefs, Paul ushered him to sit at the table. 

“I’m going to wrap your arm up so you can shower.” Paul brought plastic wrap from the kitchen. Sitting on the table, he brought the bandaged arm onto his lap and began covering it.

“You really thought it was me who died?” Daryl finally asked. He was exhausted himself, and more than a little apprehensive. 

“Yeah, I really did. Siobhan was panicking when she got here, and I saw them take someone into the trailer... Enid had your vest and...” Paul let out a measured, shaky breath. He fiddled with the satin tape he was using to seal the plastic from moisture.

“After all that, thinking I was dead, after last night... You still want to do this?”

Paul’s head snapped up and his clear sea-glass eyes pierced Daryl’s blue ones. “More than ever.” He replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “Daryl, it hurt so fucking bad, thinking I’d lost you.”

“And when you do lose me?” Daryl chanced to ask.

“That. will. Gut. Me.” Paul choked out. “But until then, I can... we can either spend our lives being happy, or feel the pain of loss every damned day. I wanna spend every day loving you, Daryl. That’s all.” Paul pulled his hair to one side, refusing to break eye contact with Daryl. 

Daryl’s chest was tight as he considered the man in front of him. Paul was lithe strength, gracefully deadly, exceptionally kind and selfless... and wanted him. He recalled how empty he had been since walking out on Paul- a hollowness that wasn’t eased by time or distraction. The man sitting in front of him, taking care of him, was laying himself bare, completely vulnerable. His eyes were red and ribs sore from crying... Daryl was glad he hadn’t had to witness Paul’s grief. He couldn’t deny it any longer, because Paul was here, giving him a second chance.

“C’mere.” Daryl pulled Paul onto his lap. He pulled away when Paul moved to kiss him, but kept his lips close, stilling him with a hand gently playing in the hair of his beard. “I’m sorry. I’ve never had this before... but I do. I love you. I don’t know if I’d survive if I lost you.” He didn’t hold back the tears that formed as he spoke. 

Paul’s heart swelled, and let his own tears fall, huffing out a sob. “I’ve never done this either. I never let anyone so close... it’s crazy terrifying... but God, I need you.”

Paul’s confession moved Daryl to the root of his soul and he could do nothing but pull him into a kiss.

It was slow and sweet, that kiss. Holding each other as if the other would crumble to dust if they let go, expressing their apologies and their longing through their lips and hands. Finally, Daryl broke, crushing Paul against himself. “I’m sorry I’m such a goddamned coward. I wasted so much time.” Paul just held his head against his chest.

“We got the rest of our lives, however long that is.” Paul’s eyes were dry and his breath steady as he spoke into Daryl’s hair.

They were going to be OK.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter, an epilogue. Thank you for sticking with this fic. I love, love, love these characters and I hope I did them justice. Find me on Tumblr: heavenseed76


	14. Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All fluff. The happy ending.

(Years later)

It rarely snowed in Virginia, but the squall that had come through turned the world into a swirling snow globe. The snowflakes made the lights hung all over Hilltop shine a little brighter and made the cold a little more tolerable. Daryl loved this time of year, especially when it snowed. He could hear the icy flakes against leaves that hadn’t had the chance to fall. The cold ground would hold the hoof prints of game and horses alike, freezing them into the earth. Daryl sat atop his horse at the ridge overlooking the river, Herschel bundled warmly in front of him. He heard Paul’s horse come near, feeling the warm, familiar presence at his side. 

“Uncle Daryl! Look!” Herschel was excited, but spoke softly. He pointed toward the tree line with a mittened hand.

Just beyond the trees a doe and two fawns were scenting the air. They had not caught sight of the horses yet. “Can I try?” Herschel asked. He was itching to try the new bow he had received for Solstice. 

In their New World, the diversity of survivors and the fall of organized religion along with the age-old desire to celebrate had lead to redefining holidays. Naturally occurring phenomena, like the longest night, were again used to mark the passing of time, and brought reason to celebrate. They celebrated surviving, living, thriving. 

Looking over, Daryl’s grin met Paul’s warm, affectionate smile. As much as he knew Herschel wanted to learn to hunt, now wasn’t the time. “Next time buddy. Let’s let this mama have a few more fawns.” Paul replied.

“We should get back. Your mama will be worried if we’re out past dark.” Daryl turned his horse and set it to trot. Paul followed behind on his own horse in the fading twilight.

Once inside the walls, the men sent Herschel into Barrington House, where their family waited on them to celebrate Solstice. They took their time putting the horses to bed, a comfortable silence falling between them. Paul came around into Daryl’s horse’s stall, wool blankets in hand. Daryl finished brushing his black stallion and took a blanket from Paul. Both men reached up to cover the animal, wrists bared to the cold as their arms stretched above them. Intricate arrows tattooed on both their wrists were visible as they worked, and Paul couldn’t help but take Daryl’s hand as they finished. He smiled up at the hunter and kissed his wrist, where the tattoo wrapped around it. 

“Hey,” Paul pulled Daryl close, clouds of breath mingling. “Love you.”

Daryl smiled- the smile Paul had vowed long ago to keep on his love’s face. “Love you, too.”

“Got a present for you. I didn’t want to give it to you in front of everybody.” Paul pulled out a small, hastily wrapped cylinder tied with red ribbon. 

Daryl frowned. “We already did gifts.” He took the package, and slowly undid the ribbon.

“This is... this is special.” Paul smiled up at Daryl, eyes twinkling.

Daryl opened the gift, finding a cardboard tube, which he opened on one end and let the object slide out into his palm. It was a thick piece of paper wrapped around a small, thin object. “What is this Paul?”

“Open it!” Paul was beginning to get impatient, though he knew Daryl probably knew what the gift was.

Daryl opened the paper... It was a grainy ultrasound photograph, wrapped around a pregnancy test. He stared at it, his face burning as he tried to hold back tears. “Is this real?” He looked up, face hopeful, eyes shining. To Paul, he looked every bit like a child on Christmas.

“Yeah. It’s real. Siobhan had the ultrasound yesterday, in case the test was wrong- it was expired.” Paul cupped Daryl’s cheek, seeing how overwhelmed he was. “This is really happening.”

“We’re gonna be dads.” Daryl’s teary, worried smile was endearing. They hugged, holding each other, keeping each other steady as the news sunk in. 

“You ready to tell everyone?” Paul pulled back, wiping away tears. 

“Maggie and Michonne are gonna flip out.” Daryl huffed a laugh and wiped his own eyes. 

Paul chuckled, “It’s good timing though. Carl and Enid’s baby will be outgrowing stuff when this one is born.” 

Daryl couldn’t take his eyes off his gift. “Glenn is gonna give us so much shit...”

“Yes... he is.” Paul agreed. “C’mon. Looks like Carol and Zeke are already here. Let’s go tell the family.”

Hand in hand, they walked through the falling snow, into Barrington House.

***

Estrella (Stella) Rovia would be born during the next Perseid meteor shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, so very much for reading this little fic that wouldn’t leave me alone! Now I have time to work on my other Desus fic, Retrouvaille. I welcome constructive criticism, and would love to chat more about this awesome pairing. Find me on Tumblr: heavenseed76

**Author's Note:**

> Comments keep the walkers away...


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